Of sassafras wood, and birch, and stone;
We’ll bake big mud pies, and cookies and pome,
You, sweet little girl, and I.
I’LL COME, LITTLE BOY
I’ll come and play with you, little boy,
For I would be your little girl.
We’ll laugh, we’ll love, we’ll play and we’ll sing;
We’ll just pretend lake down by the old spring,
And toss ourselves high in the old willow swing,